


you are finding your colors

by shellybelle



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Takes Gender Non-Conformity 101, Comfort No Hurt, Embedded Images, Emotional Sex, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Post-Canon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/pseuds/shellybelle
Summary: They’ve been married a little over a month when Alec brings it up.He noticed before that, obviously. It’s hard not to--Magnus draws his eye whenever they’re in the same room, all the more when that room is their bedroom and Magnus isn’t dressed yet. He’s watched Magnus in their closet in the mornings, trailing his fingers over jewel-toned silk shirts and tunics before slipping on something dark and structured, watched him change his nail color by magic from violet to red to silver before settling on black, watched him snap his fingers to take the fine layer of dust off the eyeshadow palettes and glitters on his vanity even as he magics on his usual simple black eyeliner.(or: Magnus doesn't wear color and light like he used to. Alec's pretty sure he knows why, and he's determined to fix it.)
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 50
Kudos: 840
Collections: Very Best Malec





	you are finding your colors

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god i don't even go here, i got sucked in by like 3 gifsets and some really well-written smut, please send help i can't get out

“You are finding your colors  
Your wings are expanding  
Don’t be afraid of your butterfly  
Your flight is the best part of living”  
― Aimee Herman, Everything Grows

They’ve been married a little over a month when Alec brings it up.

He noticed before that, obviously. It’s hard not to--Magnus draws his eye whenever they’re in the same room, all the more when that room is their bedroom and Magnus isn’t dressed yet. He’s watched Magnus in their closet in the mornings, trailing his fingers over jewel-toned silk shirts and tunics before slipping on something dark and structured, watched him change his nail color by magic from violet to red to silver before settling on black, watched him snap his fingers to take the fine layer of dust off the eyeshadow palettes and glitters on his vanity even as he magics on his usual simple black eyeliner.

Magnus never says anything, but Alec’s observant by profession, if not by nature. He starts putting together puzzle pieces, and he doesn’t like what he comes up with. He’s never had much of an eye for fashion--his own wardrobe of black, black, and more black speaks to that--but he’s not ignorant. He can tell that Magnus’s style swung away from color and softness and sparkle pretty much right after they got together. It’s been military-cut jackets and waistcoats since even before their official first date, with the notable, gut-churning exception of the days following Azazel’s spell, when he’d been back to glitter and brightness and silk.

At the time, Alec had thought he was wearing it like armor, like maybe it was a sign of him feeling better that he’d returned to darker shades and simpler makeup. But the tender way he touches the clothes he almost never wears says otherwise, and Alec can’t help but fixate.

Still, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what he’s afraid of—if it would be worse to ask and be told he’s wrong, or that he’s right.

Or, worse of all, for Magnus to give him that sad, patient smile, and say nothing at all.

When he finally mentions it, it’s almost an accident, after keeping it to himself for so long. But he’s not exactly thinking clearly, not when Magnus’s perfect hair is mussed and sweaty from Alec’s fingers, his eyeliner smudged from where Alec had cupped his face in his hands and brushed his thumbs under Magnus’s eyes while Magnus rode him into the mattress.

“Hey,” he says before he can stop himself, still fuzzy-brained from the haze of orgasm. “Can I ask you something?”

Magnus hums an affirmative from where he’s sprawled on his back, stretching out his legs with a pleased wince that Alec can’t help but feel slightly smug about. “Anything,” he says. “As long as it’s not for a round three. I don’t think I could take it.”

Alec chuckles despite himself. “I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m good enough to fuck you unconscious.”

“The day you do you’ll be hell to live with.” Magnus gives another stretch and turns onto his side, facing Alec with a lazy, sated smile. “Ask away, Alexander.”

“Is there a reason you--” He breaks off, enough of his brain coming back online that he thinks through his words. He rolls to look at Magnus so that they’re curled like parentheses in bed and changes tracks. “The way you dressed, when we got together. It was a lot more, uh--”

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Flamboyant?” he suggests, a hint of a challenge in the word.

“Colorful,” Alec corrects pointedly.

“Mm,” Magnus says. He looks vaguely amused, but there’s something wary in his eyes, and as Alec watches, his glamor flickers back on. Alec’s heart clenches. “It was, yes. Was there a question there?”

“No. Yes. I guess I just--” Alec hesitates. Magnus often has infinite patience with him, but his soul is a soft, tender thing, and the last thing Alec wants to do is prod at a sore spot and bruise that much-mended heart. “It seems like you miss it, sometimes, and I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t--it wasn’t because of me.”

He holds his breath, but Magnus’s expression just turns thoughtful, if a little surprised. “I...hm.”

He gives Alec a long, considering look. Alec tries not to hold his breath.

“It’s been a long time since I thought about it,” Magnus says finally. He gives a soft, slightly surprised laugh. “I don’t think I realized I was still doing it, to be honest. But yes. In a way, yes.”

Alec’s stomach swoops. “Magnus--”

“Hush, love, I’m not done.” Magnus’s tone is quietly commanding, and Alec closes his mouth. Magnus smiles, soft, and reaches over to run his fingers through Alec’s hair. “It was nothing you ever said or did,” he says. “It’s just...I remember what it was like, in the days after your wedding. You were dealing with so much--your family, the Clave, the Institute. I suppose I just wanted to make it easier on you.” He shrugs one shoulder, a languid movement Alec can’t help but track. “I have my limits, of course--my nails, my eyeliner. Those are too much a part of me to let go. But toning down everything else…”

He trails off, his expression uncertain. Alec reaches out and trails his fingers through Magnus’s messy hair and down to cup his cheek, and Magnus hums, tilting his head into the touch. Alec’s wedding ring glints in the lamplight. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have noticed.”

Magnus chuckles. “If I stopped noticing, I don’t see why you should have.” He turns his face and kisses Alec’s palm. “It’s not such a big thing, Alexander.”

“Still. You should dress how you like.” Alec runs his thumb along Magnus’s cheekbone. “Seriously.”

Magnus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Alec loves him so much it hurts. “Is that a hint, my dear?” Alec makes a face at him, and Magnus laughs, rolling onto his back and pulling Alec over him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his collarbone.

Warmth blooms in Alec’s chest and flows downward. He settles himself on his elbows between Magnus’s legs. “What happened to not being able to handle a round three?” he teases, bending down to nose at his throat.

“Oh, you know me,” Magnus says, eyes glinting gold. “I love a challenge.”

…

Magnus doesn’t change anything immediately.

Not that Alec really expected him to. Magnus seemed to mean it when he said he hadn’t consciously edited his style for Alec, so it wouldn’t make sense for there to be some kind of abrupt shift just because Alec--well, _gave him permission_ feels like the wrong way to think about it, but _brought things into the open_ , at least.

He keeps an eye out for a difference anyway. Not hoping for one, exactly, but just...watching.

It’s a week before anything happens, and even then, Alec almost misses it.

He’s on his way home when he gets the text that Izzy’s at their place-- ** _in a bit of a state_** , according to Magnus, which means she’s either fighting with Simon, upset about still missing Clary, or at her wits end with the new batch of recruits in from Idris. It’s most likely the latter--they’ve been keeping her busy enough that Alec hasn’t seen her in almost a week, even though they work in the same building.

Whatever it is, Alec detours to the bakery a few blocks from the loft and picks up a box of lavender macarons. Alec thinks they taste like soap, but they’re Isabelle’s favorite. As an afterthought, he gets a peanut butter brownie for Magnus as well. Just to make him smile.

Isabelle is on their couch when he walks through the door. She’s not crying, Alec notes with instant relief.

She is, however, wearing an even fuller face of makeup than usual, her hair braided back into an elaborate twist that has Magnus written all over it. She has Magnus’s hands in hers where he sits cross-legged opposite her on the sofa with his back to Alec as she studies his face with her glitter-lined eyes.

Her face lights up when he closes the door behind him. “Alec, just in time!” Magnus twists to smile at him, tilting his head up for the kiss Alec bends down to drop on his lips. “Tell Magnus that this color would look gorgeous with his skin tone.”

“That color would look gorgeous with your skin tone,” Alec says obediently, putting the box from the bakery down and dropping a kiss to the top of Izzy’s head. He shrugs out of his jacket and goes to hang it up by the door.

“You didn’t even look!” Isabelle complains, then makes a pleased sound as she opens the box. “Aw, Alec, you softie!”

Alec grins, coming to sit in Magnus’s favorite blue armchair. “Magnus looks good in everything, I didn’t have to look.”

She pouts at him, lifting a macaron from the box with careful fingers. “Yeah, but I’m asking.”

He rolls his eyes. “Let me see.”

Isabelle holds up a bottle of nail polish. The color nearly matches the chair Alec’s sitting in, swirling with glitter. “Don’t you think he needs a break from the black?”

Alec raises his eyebrows, sending a curious glance at Magnus. Magnus looks more amused than anything else, but there’s something vaguely hesitant hovering around his eyes, like he’s more invested in Alec’s answer than he wants to let on. “I like the black when he likes the black,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I like this color, too. It’s--pretty.”

He stumbles a little over the last word, but Izzy looks instantly delighted. “See?” she teases Magnus. “I told you he’d like it.”

“So you did,” Magnus says, an odd note in his voice, and Isabelle grins, holding out her hand for his.

(Later that night, Alec watches Magnus absently turn his hand, the blue polish catching the lamplight in their bedroom, his eyes soft and warm. In the morning, there’s a brilliant bouquet of cornflowers and morning glories and bluebells on their breakfast table, and Magnus hands him a cup of coffee with a sparkling smile.)

…

Two days later, Magnus applies a layer of shimmering gold eyeliner under his eyes. He catches Alec watching him in the mirror, and beams.

…

Another week, and Alec comes home from work to find Magnus in the burgundy tunic he’d worn the first night Alec ever stayed over at the loft. He spends the next twenty minutes kissing Magnus breathless.

“Sentimental?” Magnus teases when they finally part.

“Sure,” Alec says, lips slightly numb. “Let’s go with that.”

…

Two weeks after that, Magnus does his morning yoga on the balcony in one of Alec’s oversized sweaters and a skin-tight pair of metallic emerald leggings. Alec manages to hold out for an entire half hour before he pins him to one of the outdoor couches and strips him bare.

Afterwards, laughing and sated, Magnus trails his fingers through Alec’s hair. “Was it the leggings, or the shirt?”

“Yes,” Alec says, and Magnus laughs again.

...

“So Magnus is looking...sparklier lately,” Jace says, conversationally.

Pinned under most of Jace’s weight on the training room floor, Alec grunts an agreement. He’s pretty sure Jace has a strength rune activated, the cheater, but it’s so rare to see him grinning these days that Alec lets him get away with it. “Yeah,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit.

“Anything I should read into about that?”

Alec gives up trying to wriggle out of Jace’s hold and slaps the floor twice. Jace lets him go. “Not really,” he says.

Jace gives him a pointed look. Magnus had stopped by the Institute earlier in the day, gorgeous in a sequined black blazer, paired with violet skinny jeans cuffed at the hem and a pair of soft-looking suede shoes. Alec had almost tripped over himself at the sliver of skin visible between his jeans and his shoes, choking at the slightest glimpse of an ankle like some kind of Victorian cliché. Magnus’s knowing look had sent his cheeks flaming.

From the expression on Jace’s face, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Alec sighs. “He was toning himself down because he thought it would make my life easier,” he says, twisting as much to stretch out his shoulders as to avoid Jace’s eyes.

“Ouch,” Jace said. “I mean, I get it, but--ouch.”

“Yeah.” Alec twists the other way. “It wasn’t--He said it wasn’t anything I said or did, that he didn’t really even realize he was still doing it after awhile, but…” He drops back onto his elbows, stretching his neck back and looking up at the vaulted ceiling. “The look on his face every time I compliment something he wears now is just...Like, it’s _good_ , it’s _happy_ , but it’s like he never expects it. Like he thinks I won’t like it.”

Jace leans back beside him, mirroring his posture. “I mean,” he says, in the tone that always means he’s about to say something Alec won’t like. “I can kind of see where he’s coming from?” Alec snaps his head around to look at him, outraged, but Jace shakes his head. “Not because of anything you _did_ , but...look at you, man.” He motions to Alec’s workout clothes: grey sweatpants, a t-shirt that has seen better days, sneakers Magnus would probably burn if Alec tried to bring them into the loft. “It’s not out of nowhere to think you might want something a little less...out there.”

Alec snorts. “I fell for him when he was all…” He waves a hand in a vague approximation of both Magnus’s magic and his mannerisms. “ _Out there_. I just thought he was...I don’t know, keeping things simpler because he wanted to.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who goes in for _simple_.”

“You’d be surprised,” Alec says, thinking of the Magnus he gets to see at home, bare-faced and quiet in Alec’s sweaters and soft blankets, as content to spend an evening with a mug of tea and a book as he is on Pandemonium’s dance floor. He shakes his head to clear the mental image. “I just want him to be happy.”

Jace rolls his eyes. “Dude,” he says. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? He’s stupid happy.”

Alec flushes despite himself, ducking his head. “Yeah,” he says, a little embarrassed at how much he likes the idea that other people can see the contentment on Magnus’s face--a look that Alec and their marriage put there. “I just want to keep it that way.”

Jace makes a sound of agreement into his water bottle, then wipes his mouth. “So is it, like, a sex thing?”

Whatever look appears on Alec’s face makes Jace howl with laughter. Alec tackles him back to the training room floor.

…

“He’s not entirely wrong, I suppose,” Magnus says.

They’re out on the balcony, working their way through a bottle of red wine Magnus summoned from his favorite winery in Bordeaux. Alec doesn’t even want to think about what it costs. Magnus has his legs in Alec’s lap as he stretches out across the daybed, Alec’s thumb rubbing absent circles over one bare ankle, silk shirt half-open over his chest. His toenails are painted a soft, pale lavender.

Alec shifts, draping his free arm over the back of the couch. “About which part?”

Magnus drums his nails against the side of his wine glass. “You are rather...traditional, when it comes to the way you dress, my love. And I’m not unfamiliar with how attached Nephilim society is to gender roles. It wasn’t unreasonable for me to think you might have some of the same preferences when it came to wanting your potential partner to look more classically masculine.”

Alec raises his eyebrows. “And you don’t?”

Magnus waves a dismissive hand. “Masculinity, femininity--it’s all on a spectrum, of course, but I’ve never been one for putting such things in boxes. I wear what I like and what I know looks good, regardless of whether something might fall closer to one side or the other.”

“Except for when you didn’t,” Alec says.

It comes out a little more petulantly than he means it to, and he winces--clearly the wine is loosening his tongue as much as his muscles--but Magnus gives a soft laugh. “Perhaps. I’m not immune to insecurity, Alexander, as you well know.” He extends a hand out in front of him, the setting sun glinting off the polish on his nails, the same light purple as his toes. “Even now, there are a few things that I…”

He trails off. Alec frowns. “What?”

Magnus shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Alec says, because with Magnus, he’s learned to tell the difference. “Come on, you can tell me.”

Magnus regards him for a long moment, then drains his wine glass and reaches for the bottle. “There’s a difference,” he says, deliberately not meeting Alec’s eyes in the way Alec has come to recognize as his way of saying _I’m not enjoying this conversation_ , “between being okay with eyeliner or nail polish and being okay with heels and lipstick.”

Alec blinks. “Oh.” His mouth feels very dry suddenly, and he’s fairly sure it’s not from the wine. “I didn’t realize--I didn’t know that--”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dear,” Magnus says dryly, still not looking at him.

His tone is casual, but his shoulders are tighter than they were, the muscles of his calves tenser where they rest in Alec’s lap. Alec swallows and chooses his next words carefully. “You thought I wouldn’t want that.” Magnus doesn’t answer, and Alec tries again. “That I’d say it was too much?” Still nothing, but a slight thinning of Magnus’s lips. Alec puts his glass down on the table, leaning over to touch his jaw with cautious fingers. “Hey,” he says. “Look at me?”

Magnus closes his eyes, exhales, and turns his face into Alec’s hand. The glamor is up, but he drops it when Alec brushes his thumb over his cheekbone.

“Okay,” Alec murmurs. “There you are.”

Magnus gives him a small, tender smile. “Here I am.”

Alec moves his hand from Magnus’s cheek to curl it over the back of his neck. “I love you,” he says. “ _All_ of you.” Magnus’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile turning warmer, more real. “Can I ask--”

“Anything.”

He says it quietly, but Alec knows his expressions, and knows he means it. He still chooses his words carefully, not wanting to offend. “What do you like about it?”

Magnus stretches, his back arching just enough that his shirt rides up slightly, exposing the toned skin of his stomach. Alec allows himself an appreciative look, and doesn’t even feel guilty for the flare of possessiveness that goes through him at the sight. “It’s a different sort of power, I suppose,” he says. “It’s hard to explain. I--warlocks don’t have the same attachments to gender as mundanes, as nephilim. Seelies are similar, actually. I think it’s to do with how long we live. We see the way things change, the way something can be masculine in one century, feminine in another.”

Alec raises an eyebrow. “Vampires?”

“More like mundanes in that respect, in my experience, though of course it depends on a number of factors. Where they were raised, how old they are, what clan they join.” Magnus looks thoughtfully at the wine bottle, then empties it into his glass and summons another with a wave of his hand. The burnt-sugar smell of magic makes the air tingle. “Warlocks are--uniquely interested in the way perception and power interact. I suspect it’s quite connected to our marks, in some ways, though that’s more of an academic distinction. There’s actually some interesting texts about it, I might have a copy of--”

“Magnus,” Alec says, before Magnus can go off on a tangent.

Magnus blinks. “Was I rambling?”

“Just a bit,” Alec says, amused despite himself. Magnus, for all his glitter and glamor, can be such a _nerd_.

“My apologies.” Magnus lets his free hand slip around the back of Alec’s neck, fingers toying gently with the hair at his nape. Alec shivers pleasantly at the feeling. “What was I saying, then?”

“Something about power,” Alec says, leaning into Magnus’s hand. “And perception.”

“Yes, of course.” With one last brush of his thumb over Alec’s skin, Magnus withdraws his touch, leaning back against the cushions. “When it comes to clothing, appearance, there’s something powerful in subverting expectations. That’s part of it. People see makeup and jewelry and--foolishly, I might say--make an association with weakness, flightiness. Think of the way people underestimate Isabelle, for example.”

“People who underestimate Izzy are idiots,” Alec says immediately.

“Yes,” Magnus says, lips twitching. “They are. And people who underestimate me are just the same. I’m not so evolved that I wouldn’t use that to my advantage, politically and otherwise.”

Alec nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “So it’s--about appearances.”

“Among other things,” Magnus agrees, and swings his legs out of Alec’s lap, rolling gracefully to his feet.

Alec blinks, a little surprised at the sudden apparent end to the conversation. “Hey, wait,” he says. “What are the other things?”

Magnus clicks his tongue. “Let a man keep some mystery, Alexander,” he says, reaching to pick up the bottle of wine. “I’m taking this inside,” he says. “Join me?”

“Uh--yeah, I guess,” Alec says, still feeling a bit whiplashed. He reaches for his phone, figures he might as well double-check that there haven’t been any crises while he’s been lounging with Magnus. Night off or not, some habits are hard to break. “In a minute.”

There’s a rustling sound, followed by the soft impact of fabric hitting concrete. Alec glances up from the text he’s composing to Izzy just in time to see Magnus, shirtless now, disappear around the corner into their bedroom. His silk shirt is pooled on the balcony floor.

Alec abandons his text and scrambles to follow him.

Magnus is already at his vanity when Alec gets to the bedroom, carefully removing his makeup. Ever since he lost and regained his magic he’s put on and taken off his makeup and nail polish by hand as often as he does it with magic, as if he needs the reassurance that he could do it again if he needed to. Alec thinks maybe there’s something soothing in it as well--he’s certainly found it to be, the few times Magnus has let him gently wipe away the cosmetics after a long day of too much magic use, or before a shared bath.

Now, he leans over to kiss Magnus’s cheek, his eyes flickering to their shared reflection in the mirror out of habit. Magnus tilts his face up before Alec even makes contact, and Alec smiles, brushing his lips against Magnus’s cheekbone and the bending further to kiss the side of his neck, and then his bare shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Magnus puts the makeup wipe down and reaches up to thread his fingers through Alec’s hair. His skin is warm under Alec’s mouth, and he kisses his shoulder again, and then once more. “You’re sweet.”

Alec hums. “You’re one to talk,” he says, “luring me in with that shirt thing.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Magnus’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips quirking up. He turns his head and Alec meets him for a slow, lazy kiss.

His lips are soft and full, and Alec finds himself focusing on them when they part. It’s not unusual for him to get a little distracted by Magnus’s mouth, but something about the conversation they just left on the balcony makes it feel impossible to pull his eyes away. “Magnus,” he says, his voice gone hoarse as he brings one hand up to brush his thumb against Magnus’s bottom lip. “Could you…”

Magnus presses a kiss to the tip of Alec’s thumb. Alec’s blood warms, heat starting to throb through his veins. “Could I what?”

Alec swallows. “Could I see?”

Understanding blooms in Magnus’s dark eyes. He licks his lips, his tongue flicking against Alec’s skin in the process, and inclines his head. “What color?”

“I--any color.” Alec pulls his hand away before he loses the ability to think. “Your favorite.”

Magnus smiles, leaning back and nodding towards the bed. “Go sit, love.”

Alec straightens up with a last drag of his fingers over Magnus’s neck, relishing the small shiver left in the wake of his touch as he turns away to sit on the edge of the bed. Magnus opens a drawer in the vanity and starts poking through it, then withdraws a small tube and leans over to the mirror to focus on his reflection. Alec takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, running his hands over the textured duvet cover to ground himself.

A moment later, Magnus’s weight settles on his lap, his knees on either side of Alec’s thighs. Alec brings his hands up to rest on his hips without opening his eyes, running his thumbs over the bare skin above Magnus’s waistband.

Magnus drapes his arms over Alec’s shoulders, his nose nuzzling gently over Alec’s cheek. “Open your eyes, darling.”

Alec does, and his breath catches in his chest.

The color on Magnus’s lips is red, but it’s not garish or vivid--it’s a deep, rich color, like blood spilled on a dark night. It makes his lips look fuller, plusher, and Alec doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him or push him to his knees.

Magnus tilts his head to one side, mouth quirking up on one side. “Well?”

Alec shudders, makes a split-second decision, and pulls Magnus forward to seal their lips together.

The lipstick leaves a faintly waxy texture, slightly foreign under Alec’s tongue, and when Magnus parts his lips for him Alec finds himself missing the natural taste he’s used to, muted like it’s under a film. Magnus slides his hands into Alec’s hair, his nails scratching gently at his roots, and Alec shivers at the touch.

When Magnus draws away, the lipstick has lost some of its neatly-applied definition, but the color is still there, dark and smooth and enticing. “Fuck,” Alec says. “You’re beautiful.”

Magnus smiles. “You like it?”

Alec kisses him again in reply, and Magnus rocks into him, long fingers curling over the back of Alec’s neck. There’s a grin sparkling in his eyes when he pulls away, teeth flashing white, and he brings a hand down to thumb over Alec’s lip. “Smudged a bit,” he says.

“I don’t care,” Alec says. He feels a little lightheaded, probably because all his blood is rushing south.

“I hoped you’d say that,” Magnus purrs. He leans in to nip at the Deflect rune on Alec’s neck, then slides out of Alec’s lap and folds down to his knees with a grace Alec only dreams of mastering. He drags his fingertips over Alec’s thighs, then bends to kiss his knee. Alec exhales hard, reaching to thread his fingers into Magnus’s hair, and draws him pointedly forward, spreading his legs to nudge Magnus between them. Magnus huffs a laugh, turning his head to brush a kiss against Alec’s inner thigh, lips hot even through his jeans. “Was there a request there, darling?”

“Magnus--” Alec shudders as Magnus’s lips trail further up, acutely aware of the marks the lipstick would leave on his skin if his legs were bare. “Please.”

Magnus chuckles, undoing Alec’s belt with deft fingers. Alec lets his head fall back, tensing his hand so he doesn’t tighten his grip on Magnus’s hair, and bites back a groan as warm hands dip into his underwear. The first touch of Magnus’s lips on his heated skin makes him shudder, and he closes his eyes as Magnus closes his mouth around him, gives a languid, almost teasing suck.

For a few moments, everything is wet, glorious suction. Magnus has had centuries to get good at this, and God does it show--he can keep Alec on edge for what feels like an eternity or bring him off in under five minutes depending on his mood, and Alec can’t do anything but hold on for the ride. He squeezes his eyes shut under the sweet warmth of Magnus’s mouth, and nearly whines when, with a long, slow pull, Magnus pulls back.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, his voice already wrecked. Alec groans an acknowledgment, and soft fingers brush his jaw. “Alec.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, Alec forces his eyes open and looks down at him. Magnus smiles with red, red lips.

“Watch, love,” he murmurs, and lowers his head again.

Alec stares, transfixed, as Magnus wraps his painted lips around the head of Alec’s cock. The contrast of the deep red of Magus’s mouth against Alec’s skin, the soft fullness of his lips against the occasional rasp of his facial hair, is startling in its sensuality. He bites the inside of his cheek and runs shaking hands through Magnus’s hair, trying and failing to keep his hips from rocking forward, and when Magnus hums around him Alec feels the vibrations shock their way up his spine.

The visual is entrancing in a way Alec hadn’t quite prepared for. Every pass of Magnus’s mouth leaves the barest traces of lipstick behind, but his lips never seem to lose their color, and Alec wonders, a little wildly, if he’s using magic to keep them that way. It’s so, so hot, and Alec couldn’t have seen this coming, would never in a thousand years have thought he’d like--that something like this would--

“Magnus,” he chokes out. “Magnus, I’m--I _can’t_ \--”

Magnus pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand, and it only takes two strokes for Alec to come. The first pulses spill across Magnus’s red lips and flushed cheeks, and the sight of it punches a groan out of Alec’s chest. He folds forward, clinging to Magnus’s shoulders even as Magnus bends his head again, swallowing around Alec’s cock as he shakes through the rest of his orgasm.

Alec’s still panting when Magnus draws away at last, resting his head on Alec’s thigh and smiling up at him with gold eyes, his Mark laid bare. He looks well-fucked and smug, Alec’s come clinging to his lips and streaked over one cheekbone, his mouth swollen and lipstick smeared.

“Fuck,” Alec says, a little dumbly. He reaches down to slide his fingers through the come on Magnus’s face, and Magnus leans up to lick it off his fingers. “You look... _fuck_.”

Magnus smirks around Alec’s fingers. “That good?” he purrs, but there’s a spark of an absolutely incomprehensible uncertainty in his eyes, and that’s just--

Alec reaches down and drags him back onto his lap, folding him in close. He kisses the taste of himself out of Magnus’s mouth, groaning when Magnus rocks his hips against his, his oversensitive body already trying to respond. “I love you,” he says when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “Tell me you know that.”

“Yes,” Magnus says, pupils blown, looking almost dazed. “Yes, I know.”

“Good,” Alec says. He rolls them, laying Magnus out on his back against the duvet and sliding between his legs. “Let me show you how much.”

…

It’s hard not to think about it, after that.

Alec never bothered with self-denial, in those early days of coming to terms with his sexuality. Even before he knew the word _gay_ he knew he was different, and when it clicked into place there was no room for protest, no point in trying to force himself into attraction to girls--his parents, for all their flaws, taught him to _know_ himself. Growing up in the Institute and Idris meant that his _type_ , for lack of a better word, emerged almost by default--he’s attracted to strength and competence, grace and agility, to the ripple of well-trained muscles and the scent of clean sweat.

As much as it grosses him out to think of it now, it’s probably not surprising that he’d spent so long convinced he was in love with Jace.

But Magnus--he never could have seen Magnus coming. Magnus who ticks every single one of his boxes, with his fluid grace and radiant power, but who is so, so much more: kind, and elegant, and wise, and soft in a way that’s so much stronger than Alec ever knew was possible. Against all of that, the silk and eyeliner and nail polish is practically incidental, but while it was all initially overwhelming, it’s now as familiar and comforting to Alec as breathing.

As much as he’d told Magnus otherwise, though, the lipstick feels...different. The intensity of his reaction to it had caught him off-guard in a way he didn’t expect. With all the conversation leading up to it, Alec had prepared himself to be tolerant, even indulging, as long as it made Magnus happy.

Instead he’d been hit with a rush of blood to his dick so fast it made him dizzy, had come so hard and so quickly his head had spun. He’d spread Magnus out and wrung two orgasms out of him to make up for it, but in the wake of the swell of passion he’d struggled to sleep, thoughts spiraling. Between Izzy’s tweenage glam rock obsession and Jace’s regrettable punk rock phase, he’s had years to get used to the concept of glitter and eyeliner on men. Lipstick, though, has always seemed to be firmly feminine, and now, despite all attempts not to, he’s overthinking.

“You should talk to Meliorn,” Izzy says.

Alec blinks at her over the rim of his coffee cup, startled out of his train of thought and trying to connect the Clave budgets they’ve been reviewing with Izzy’s words. “Meliorn?” Pulling his focus back in, he skims the spreadsheet to see if there’s something in the Seelie Court section he needs to review, but it all looks normal, bar a fifteen percent decrease in expected expenditures now that the Seelies have a new queen who isn’t _out of her fucking mind_. “Why?”

Isabelle drapes herself more comfortably over the couch in Alec’s office, pointedly ignoring his frown when the spiked heels of her boots press into the leather. “Did you know that Seelies don’t really believe in gender?”

That doesn’t answer his question, except that it absolutely does. Alec sighs. “Magnus talked to you.”

“Not in any detail,” she says, which probably isn’t as reassuring as she means it to be. “But he mentioned that he was having a bit of trouble explaining a few things to you. There was some reference to lipstick, which.” She waggles her eyebrows at him. “Hot, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” he says dryly.

If she ever finds out that he actually _does_ find Magnus in lipstick dizzyingly hot, he’ll never hear the end of it. Bad enough Jace had cornered him the morning after with a knowing grin, tapping at his Parabatai rune and winking--the last thing he needs is to give Izzy more cannon fodder to tease him.

Judging by the look on her face, she knows anyway. “All I’m saying is that Meliorn might be a good person to talk to. He explained some of it to me, back when we were together, and it helped me understand a few things that I was...probably kind of insensitive about.” She gives him a wry smile. “And the benefit of talking to _him_ instead of Magnus is that you probably won’t get as distracted.”

Alec chokes on a poorly-timed sip of coffee. “I don’t get _distracted_ ,” he sputters.

Izzy watches in obvious amusement as he tries and fails to find something to mop up the spilled coffee, then gives up and uses a printout of one of the earlier budget drafts. “Sure you don’t,” she says. “You just casually walked into a console table in the ops center the other day just for fun, then?”

He winces. Magnus had swept in for a consultation wearing a flowing blue tunic and a pair of leather pants so tight they looked painted on, a shimmer of gloss on his lips. Alec still has the bruise on his hip from slamming into the table at the sight of him. “Fair,” he admits. He tosses the wet papers into the trash can next to his desk. “What makes you think Meliorn would talk to me about this kind of thing, anyway?”

“He gets a kick out of being able to tell Shadowhunters when we’re being snobby idiots,” she says. “And he’d do it as a favor to me. But even if he wouldn’t…” She shrugs. “He and Magnus go way back. If he was willing to go to Edom to get Magnus back, I’m sure he’ll have one weird conversation with you.”

“I think you were more of a draw than Magnus in that particular situation,” Alec says, but she has a point. He’s not exactly sure how long Magnus has known Meliorn, but he knows it’s at least a century, and when they aren’t exchanging political barbs, they seem to enjoy each other’s company. He rubs his forehead. “You sure he won’t make fun of me?”

“Oh, he’ll absolutely make fun of you,” Izzy says cheerfully, rolling up to her feet. She leans across his desk and drops a kiss to the top of his head. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

…

True to Izzy’s word, Meliorn meets him at the Hunter’s Moon a week later.

“I was surprised to hear from you,” he says, sliding into the booth across from Alec with more grace than Alec has ever managed. His drink is an absolutely terrifying electric violet color. “Color me intrigued, Mr. Lightwood. Or--Lightwood-Bane, I should say?”

Alec is one hundred percent sure Meliorn knows his name, but he lets it go. Seelies will be Seelies, and as much as he’s been working on dismantling his old opinions, _the fae folk will fuck with you just for fun_ is true more often than not. “Thanks for taking the call.”

Meliorn tilts his head, his hair tumbling loose over his shoulder. Damn, Alec thought. Isabelle might be onto something. “Anything for Isabelle’s brother,” he says, lips curling with amusement. “What can I do for you?”

“Izzy said--” Alec runs his thumb through the condensation on his beer bottle. It’s still not his favorite, but some of the microbrews are growing him. “She mentioned something to me about Seelies not particularly believing in gender. I was wondering--that is--”

He’s stumbling, but Meliorn seems to take pity on him. “Ah,” he says. To Alec’s surprise, a tension he’d barely noticed before eases from his silk-clad shoulders. “This is about Magnus, I assume.”

Alec startles. “Yes, actually,” he says. “How did you--”

Meliorn sits back against the leather booth. “Magnus Bane may no longer be the High Warlock, but he still has dealings with the Court. And I’m sure you know that he has a...striking presence. When he makes obvious changes, people take note.” He regards Alec with dark, expressive eyes. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that he’s taken his colors back since your marriage. It’s pleasant to see. I had my concerns.”

“Did you,” Alec says flatly, trying not to visibly bristle at the implications.

“Many Downworlders did,” Meliorn says, either missing or ignoring Alec’s tone. “Your husband has many friends. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who expressed some...apprehension about him giving his heart to a Shadowhunter.” Now Alec does tense, but Meliorn raises a hand. “As I’m sure you expressed your misgivings to your sister regarding her dalliance with me, which I hope you’ll agree were just as unfounded. We are all working on our prejudices.”

Alec makes a concerted effort to relax the tightness in his jaw. By the looks of his faint smirk, Meliorn notices, but doesn’t comment. “Okay,” Alec says. “So you know why I’m here.”

“I have my assumptions.” Alec resists the urge to smack his head against the back of the booth. _Fucking fae._ Meliorn finishes his drink and signals the bartender for another. “Tell me,” he says. “Your clothing. What makes you choose it?”

Not exactly the question Alec expected. “It’s practical,” he says slowly. “Professional, but I can move, fight if I need to. Dark colors make more sense for night patrols, even if I don’t do them that often anymore. Durable fabric, so easy to clean.” He frowns. “Why?”

Meliorn nods at the pretty blonde Seelie who drops another round of drinks on their table, flashing a smile that makes her blush. “Clothing makes a statement,” he says. “I can take one look at you, and surmise that you’re traditional, that you’re pragmatic, that you value function over form, that you command respect but don’t feel a need to be noticed.” He gestures to his own clothing with the hand not holding his glass. “Look at me. What do you see?”

Alec furrows his brow, but plays along. He gives himself a moment to study him, taking in the soft linen tunic, open at the throat and shot through with gold thread, the structured leather jacket, armored plates only visible for those who knew to look, the vines and flowers woven through the scarring on the side of his face and neck, the sweep of color over his eyelids and the gleam of jewelry at his throat. The intentional way his hair sweeps to one side to leave the former Queen’s scars on display, how shiny and smooth it looks as it tumbles across his shoulder.

“You like to be underestimated,” he says slowly. “You value beauty, but not at the expense of strength. You aren’t afraid of vulnerability, but you don’t want to project it, either.” He pauses, uncertain, then adds, “You like to be noticed.”

Meliorn’s lip curls. “Yes,” he says. “Now. Magnus.”

Alec hesitates. Meliorn watches him, and his expression softens.

“You know him,” he says. “You _see_ him. Tell me what you see.”

Alec nods, slowly, and closes his eyes.

He pictures Magnus, the body he knows now almost as well as his own. The deceptive carelessness in the way he pairs fabric and color, always with purpose, even when Alec can’t figure out what it is. The deliberate drape of silk, the firm line of leather. The calculated exposure of smooth gold skin, glimpses at his throat, collarbone, chest. On the occasional dizzying occasion, all the way down to his navel. The razor-sharp edges of his hair, the sweep of eyeliner. The glint of metal at his neck and ears and hands, run through with the imagery of death: skulls and snakes and blades, even paired with his softest clothing.

“He’s powerful,” Alec says, opening his eyes and meeting Meliorn’s cool gaze. “Powerful, and proud. He knows himself, and he’s unashamed. He likes to be seen. To be--wanted. But on his own terms. He knows how to make himself visible, and how to make people see what he wants them to see.” He takes a deep breath. “He’s beautiful, and he knows he’s beautiful. He knows how to use that as a weapon. But he’s not--he doesn’t want to be _seen_ as a weapon. He wants…” He hesitates, but he knows this. He knows _Magnus_. “He likes to be a mystery, but he wants to be _known_.”

Meliorn inclines his head. “Just so,” he says. His eyes have the same ageless wisdom Alec has come to recognize in Magnus. “You didn’t mention femininity.”

Alec blinks. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Alec falters. It’s true that he associates some of the things Magnus wears with women, but Magnus _himself_ \-- “Because he’s not. Not really. He’s just...He’s just Magnus.”

“Yes.” Meliorn’s smile is knowing in a way that Alec usually finds infuriating, but feels oddly comforting now. “He is beautiful, as you said. He likes what he likes, and he makes it his own, and in doing so he takes the concepts that mundanes find so important and…” He waves a hand in a movement weirdly reminiscent of Magnus’s magic. “Transcends them.”

Alec makes a face. “You make it sound so...I don’t know, abstract.”

Meliorn laughs. “Perhaps.” He sips his drink. “Let me frame it for you this way. Think of another man in Magnus’s clothing, in his makeup. Does it have the same effect on you?”

Alec pictures Jace in Magnus’s silk tunics and skin-tight jeans, tries to imagine Simon in Magnus’s eyeliner or lipstick. He blanches despite himself, and Meliorn chuckles.

“There. You see?”

“I think so,” Alec says, trying to get the image of Jace in metallic leggings out of his head. “You’re saying that Magnus is who he is, and just because he plays with something or likes it doesn’t mean he’s not a man.”

“Something like that,” Meliorn says. “Mostly, I’m saying that when you live long enough, categories like _man_ and _woman_ become something you use more for the convenience of others than for any personal attachment to gender or sex. Magnus is no less a man for enjoying color or silk than he is for enjoying penetration and restraint. In this age all of those things are acceptable, but even when they weren’t, he was unapologetically himself. His masculinity is by his own definition, his femininity the same. Do not do him the disservice of taking either from him.”

He says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the world rather than a casual dismantling of everything Alec has ever been taught.

But even as Alec takes it in, he...gets it.

“Okay,” he says.

Meliorn arches an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“It’s not…” Alec tries to find the words, and gives up, spreading his hands. “It’s Magnus.”

“It is.” Meliorn looks amused, draining the rest of his drink. “If that’s all,” he says, “then I’ll return to the Court.” He rises to his feet, then pauses. “Tell Magnus that if he ever decides to revisit that _one soul at a time_ idea, he should call me. Isabelle would be appalled, I’m sure, but you’re comely enough, and it’s been some years since I spent time in Magnus’s bed.” The look he gives Alec is just shy of a leer. “I wouldn’t mind a return visit.”

Alec sputters. “You-- _what_?” He replays the rest of their conversation, his brain stumbling over the _penetration and restraints_ comment he’d dismissed as a throwaway note, not a reference to known experience, and chokes on air. “ _What_?”

Meliorn laughs, musical and wicked, touches two teasing fingers to Alec’s jaw, and leaves.

Their waitress reappears, casting a brief wistful look after Meliorn before looking back at Alec. “Get you another drink?”

“Make it a double,” Alec says, and doesn’t wait for her to go before he drops his head onto the table with a groan.

…

The living room is empty when Alec gets home from the Institute a few days later, closing the door behind him and slumping back against it. It’s been a shitshow of a day, council meetings and coordinating the cleanup of a nest of Ravener demons that had taken over a mundane townhouse in Queens and way more calls to the Clave than any normal person should have to deal with, and all Alec wants to do is collapse on the couch.

Preferably with Magnus, who’s usually waiting for him by the drinks cart at this point in the day, but is conspicuously absent now. Alec frowns, unbuckling his holster and hanging it and his Seraph blade on the weapons rack Magnus had installed by the door. “Magnus?”

“In here,” Magnus calls.

Alec pushes a hand through his hair and follows the sound of his voice--and, now that he’s paying attention, the heavy herbal smell of potion-brewing--to the kitchen. Magnus is standing at the stove, studying a pot with a focused expression, but he glances at Alec and smiles when he comes in before dropping his gaze back down to the pot.

“Hi, love,” he says. “I’d come greet you properly, but this needs to be watched like a hawk for another minute or so.”

“I can wait,” Alec says, dropping onto one of the stools at the island. They redid the kitchen after the wedding, a normally invasive home renovation project barely the work of an afternoon with Magnus’s magic, and they spend far more time there now, committing to cooking the mundane way at least one night a week. The island hides most of Magnus from view from where Alec’s sitting, which is a pity, he thinks, propping his chin in one hand, because Magnus is wearing Alec’s shirt, one of the well-loved black pullovers that’s even a little large on Alec and is practically oversized on Magnus, and that always does all sorts of fluttery things to Alec’s stomach.

He must have thrown a jacket on over it earlier if he had meetings out of the house, Alec thinks, given his usual reluctance for looking so _casual_ in public. He looks around, catches the confirming sight of a black blazer tossed haphazardly over the counter next to the sink, and nods to himself, slightly guilty at how pleased he is that this soft, dressed-down version of Magnus is still mostly _his_. “What are you working on?”

“Magic replenishing potion,” Magnus says. “I try to keep some on hand for emergencies, and I realized I was out when I went to get some earlier today.”

Alec straightens up, suddenly alert again. “Why did you need magic replenishing potion?” he demands, half rising out of his stool.

Magnus waves a dismissive hand without turning to him. “It wasn’t for me,” he says. “Catarina had a particularly difficult healing session and needed a pick-me-up.”

A little whiplashed, Alec sits back down. “Is she okay?”

“Mmhm. I called in a favor with Tessa.” Magnus reaches for a clear bottle of vivid yellow powder sitting on the counter and drops a pinch of it into the pot. The steam rising from the pot turns abruptly purple, and Magnus makes a pleased sound, turning the heat down and turning to Alec with a bright sound. “There now,” he says. “That’ll simmer for a few hours. Hi, darling.”

He leans across the counter to kiss Alec hello, and Alec closes his eyes and lets himself list into him, feeling the last of the day’s tension drop away. “Hi.”

Magnus’s hand strokes through his hair. “You look tired.”

“It was a hell of a day,” Alec admits. “Twelve dead mundanes in Queens.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah.” Alec scrubs a hand over his face. “Izzy’s handling a lot of it, but I’ll be doing paperwork for days.”

Magnus clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Anything I can do?”

Alec shakes his head. “No. No, it’s fine.” He closes his eyes. “Tell me about your day?”

“Mm. My day. Other than making finicky potions, I suppose?”

Alec mumbles an affirmative, dropping his head tiredly into his folded arms on the counter.

Magnus laughs softly. “Well.” He steps around the island, and a moment later, he slides his arms around Alec’s shoulders from behind. “I could tell you that I got a very interesting phone call from Meliorn.”

And Alec notices three things in quick succession.

First: that Magnus’s voice in his ear is like a purr in his ear, warm and breathy in the way that always sets Alec’s skin to tingling.

Second: that Magnus’s steps, usually nearly silent, had _clicked_ against the hardwood of the kitchen floor as he made his way to Alec.

And third: that Magnus, whose body Alec knows by heart, _especially_ in the way it fits against his, is _taller_ than usual.

Alec’s eyes fly open, and he twists around in his seat.

Magnus does, in fact, have an extra several inches of height than Alec is used to. Alec’s mouth goes suddenly dry as he scans him, taking in the loose shirt, gaping at the neck to expose the hollow of his throat and the sharp line of his collarbone; the tight black pants that cling to his legs, cuffed mid-calf and leaving his ankles on display; and finally, Alec sees with an almost terrifying flip of his stomach, the black platform stilettos, that give him at least five more inches of height and force Alec to look back _up_ to meet his heated gaze.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

Says, more hoarsely than he means to, “ _Fuck_.”

Magnus smiles--no, he _grins_ , hot and wicked and fond. “My eloquent Shadowhunter,” he teases. His arms, still around Alec’s shoulders, slide back until he’s tangling his fingers in Alec’s hair. “Nothing else to say to me, my love?”

Alec shakes his head. It’s not often that Magnus actually strikes him _speechless_. It’s been months, really, long enough that Alec’s forgotten what it feels like when Magnus looks so good that Alec loses the ability to speak, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

All he knows is that he wants--no, he _needs_ to get his hands on this man.

Magnus laughs in delighted surprise as Alec surges forward, catching him around the waist and spinning to scoop him up onto the counter in one fluid motion, taking full advantage of his Nephilim speed and strength. Their height difference is back to familiar equilibrium with Magnus sitting on the island--he’s taller, still, but Alec is used to it like this, and he leans up to capture his mouth. Pinpricks of pressure spark at his hips as Magnus digs his heels into Alec’s back, and suddenly, all Alec can think of is getting Magnus under him.

  
He pulls back with a groan, burying his face in the crook of Magnus’s neck, inhaling deeply and trying to get himself under control, at least enough to not go off in his pants like it’s their first time. Magnus chuckles, low and throaty, running his hands over Alec’s shoulders. “What do you want, my love?”

Alec shudders, then lifts his head, drawing back to meet his husband’s eyes. “I want,” he says, slowly, deliberately, leaving no room for doubt, “to take you to bed.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, the glamour falls from Magnus’s eyes, and an instant later Magnus is hauling him into a searing kiss, wet and messy and spine-tingling. Alec is breathless when they part. “Then take me to bed, Shadowhunter,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec groans and hauls him off the counter and into his arms. Magnus’s legs wrap around his waist, Alec stumbling briefly under his weight before his Strength rune kicks in and he steadies himself. Magnus brings their lips back together, and Alec makes it halfway across the living room before he has to break away to breathe and veer to one side before he walks them into the couch. “Menace,” he says, laughing, and Magnus flashes him a grin and fixes his teeth to the side of Alec’s neck, just high enough to be impossible to hide. “ _Magnus_ ,” he chides.

Magnus pulls away with a pout, but his eyes are glinting, brilliant and gold. “Then let me at more skin,” he says, voice dripping with promise, and Alec _burns_.

They make it to the bedroom with only one more almost-crash, Magnus’s shoulder grazing a painting and knocking it askew on its hook. “ _Leave it_ ,” he says against Alec’s lips when Alec makes to stop, and Alec stumbles them the rest of the way to bed, tossing Magnus down onto the comforter and crawling up after him. Magnus waves a hand, banishing the duvet to the floor in a swirl of blue magic, and then makes a startled noise when Alec slides between his legs and attaches his teeth to his collarbone, nipping at his skin.

“Alec--” He shudders as Alec curves his hands over his hips and hauls him up into his lap. “Alexander, love--”

Alec tears his mouth away. “Take your clothes off.”

Magnus’s eyes flash. “All of them?”

It’s almost a purr, and Alec tightens his grip on the fabric of his shirt-- _his_ shirt, he remembers belatedly. It’s tempting, but he wants to taste more skin under his lips. “All of them,” he says, and then sits back on his knees to scoop one of Magnus’s legs up and onto his shoulder, turning his head to kiss his ankle, his mouth just brushing the shiny leather of his shoe. The sole is a bright, vivid crimson. He hadn’t noticed that before, and something about it is oddly thrilling. “Leave these.”

There’s a shower of blue sparks from Magnus’s fingertips and his clothes vanish. So do Alec’s, and he has half a moment to shiver at the sudden air on his bare skin before he’s bending down to kiss Magnus again, coaxing his mouth open and groaning when long, clever fingers wind into his hair. “I love you,” he says into the kiss, and feels the curve of his husband’s smile.

“I love _you_ ,” Magnus says. He nuzzles their noses together, sweet and silly in a way the Alec of six months ago could never have known sex could be, and smiles. “What do you want?”

Everything, Alec wants to say. Anything you’ll give me.

“You,” he says instead.

Magnus smiles. “You have me,” he murmurs. “You’ll always have me.”

The words have a weight Alec doesn’t expect, and he finds himself leaning in for another kiss, slower and more tender than they were before. “I know,” he says when he pulls back. “I just--”

“What?”

Alec shakes his head. He’s never been as eloquent as Magnus, but there are other things he can do with his mouth. He drops one more kiss to his jaw and then slides down the bed, dropping down onto his elbows and pressing his lips to the side of Magnus’s hip. “Turn over for me?”

Magnus hums an assent and rolls with more grace than Alec, for all his angelic blood, has ever quite managed. Alec kisses the dip of his spine, and Magnus shudders. The air crackles, static dancing over Alec’s skin, and he can smell the distinct, musk-and-sugar scent particular to Magnus’s prep spells.

(And hadn’t _that_ been a heady discovery, learning that sex magic had its own smell. Alec’s pretty sure he has a Pavlovian reaction to salted caramel these days.)

It makes his mouth water now, and he leans forward, nudging Magnus’s legs apart and nipping at the soft skin of his ass before he dives in to lick him open. He fits his hands to the narrowest part of Magnus’s waist, his hands finding the curve of his hips with practiced ease, fingers curling into the places of half-healed bruises. Magnus reacts to this like he always does, with loud, shameless pleasure, shuddering under Alec’s touch and arching back into him, fluid and gorgeous.

“Please,” he says, half-muffled into the pillow. “Alec, Alec, please--”

“I love,” Alec says, pulling back just enough to lick a firm line over his hole and relishing the answering shudder, “how you say my name.”

“Alex _ander_ \--”

“I’ve got you.” Alec presses the words into his skin, the clean, heady taste of him hot on his tongue.

He should feel guilty, maybe, for how much he loves this, teasing Magnus open, pretending he can’t hear it when Magnus begs him for more, faster, harder. Magnus reaches back for him and Alec meets him halfway, threading their fingers together, letting Magnus clutch his hand tight. He can get Magnus off like this, he knows, make him come untouched and leave him pliant and easy for it when Alec slides into him.

(He’s never been clear if there’s something to a Warlock refractory period or if it’s just _Magnus_ , but he can regularly get him to two orgasms, can often tease him to a third, if his own body will hold out--and thank the Angel for Stamina runes, because otherwise he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance.)

The moans vibrating through Magnus’s body and against Alec’s lips increase in intensity, the muscles under Alec’s hands quivering. “Yeah,” Alec says, biting a kiss into sensitive skin, and Magnus arches with a sharp, desperate sound. “Yeah, come on--”

Magnus comes on a long, shuddering groan, his body shaking perfectly in Alec’s hold as he falls apart. Alec pulls back enough to soothe him through it, smoothing a hand over the twitching muscles in his back and thighs and ass, and catching him with a swift arm around the waist when his knees threaten to give way, going with his momentum and tipping him gently to the side, then rolling him onto his back. Magnus is flushed and beautiful, his lips still parted on the remnants of a moan, eyeliner slightly smeared. Alec bends to kiss his neck, and Magnus laughs, breathless, wrapping his arms around him.

“Good?” Alec says against his jaw.

He feels the vibration of Magnus’s answering chuckle. “Very,” he says. Alec’s mouth tingles briefly, a sensation like licking a battery, and he has a moment to taste mint on his tongue before Magnus is hauling him up into a wet, messy kiss, sloppy in the way he only ever is in the immediate aftermath of orgasm. “How did I get so lucky?”

Alec shakes his head. “I’m the lucky one,” he rasps. “God, Magnus, you...you don’t even _know_.”

Magnus hums, threading his fingers into Alec’s hair and wrapping his legs around his waist. The points of his heels dig into the divots at the base of Alec’s spine, sharp and firm, and Alec remembers, abruptly, what had sent them to bed so heatedly in the first place.

He pushes himself up--Magnus makes a complaining noise at the loss of his warmth--and slips an arm under the same leg he’d scooped up earlier, lifting it up and pressing a kiss to Magnus’s ankle, running his fingers over the shiny leather. “These are--really something.”

“Mm.” Magnus smiles at him, gold glinting under his eyelashes. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” Alec takes a shaking breath. “I didn’t expect…”

Words fail him. Magnus watches him with warm, patient eyes, and for a moment all Alec can do is _look_ at him, taking in every feature of his familiar face, so quickly beloved. His mouth is red, the indent of his teeth slightly paler in his bottom lip, and before he can stop himself Alec reaches out, touches it with his thumb. “Can you…” He hesitates, but desire wins out over self-doubt. “Like last time?”

Magnus blinks at him, brow furrowing briefly in confusion, and then understanding blossoms across his features. Color blooms over his lips, the bitten flush giving way to a true crimson, the same vivid red as the soles of his shoes. His makeup darkens as well, lashes thickening and liner going sharper at the edges of his eyes, and Alec exhales, thumbing over his cheekbone.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So you tell me,” Magnus murmurs.

“Only because it’s true.” Alec trails his fingers down, until he can slip his hand between Magnus’s spread legs, dipping the tip of his thumb inside him where he’s still spit-wet and yielding. “Can I?”

Magnus shudders, tilting his hips into Alec’s touch. “ _Please_.”

Alec doesn’t bother teasing this time, too turned on to go slow. He lets Magnus slick his fingers with a wave of blue magic and opens him up as quickly as he dares, suddenly desperately aware of his own arousal, his blood hot in his veins. He zeroes in on the sharp pricks of pain where Magnus’s heels press into his back to try and ground himself, even as he teases Magnus with a fourth finger. “Are you--”

“Yes.” Magnus’s eyes are wet at the corners, slitted pupils blown wide. “Alec, please.”

Alec can’t deny him anything. He pulls his fingers free.

No matter how many times they do this, sliding into Magnus always feels like the first time, hot and tight and perfect. Magnus’s hands come up to clutch at his biceps as Alec gives a few slow, testing thrusts. And then--

“ _Alexander_ ,” Magnus pleads, fingers digging into Alec’s skin.

“Yeah,” Alec rasps. He leans forward until he’s bent Magnus almost in half, hitches Magnus’s leg back over his shoulder—Magnus _keens_ at the change in angle—and starts to move, fucking him in long, hard strokes, clinging to his self control. Magnus responds with open pleasure, loud and unashamed, painted lips parted as he gasps Alec’s name, and Angel above, Alec doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

He says as much, the words panted out between thrusts, and Magnus shakes his head, cups Alec’s face in his hands.

“I’m the lucky one,” he says, pulling Alec down even further until their foreheads touch. “My Alexander. I have never been more myself than I am with you.”

Alec gives him a bruising kiss and then has to pull back so he can fuck him properly, touching all the skin he can reach with the hand not grasping Magnus’s hip, arm angled to support the knee hooked over his shoulder. He can see all of Magnus like this, and he drinks in the sight of him with greedy eyes, the beauty and power and contrast of him: trimmed facial hair and red lips, thick biceps and painted nails, strong thighs and wickedly pointed stilettos.

He wishes, with a sudden inexplicable yearning, that he knew how to paint. Magnus is immortal, but Alec wants to keep this image forever.

“I love you,” he says, the words coming out in a ragged rush. “I love you so much. Everything you are.” Magnus moans, arches, and Alec feels himself start to unravel. “You’re perfect. You’re—you’re everything I never knew I wanted.”

Magnus cries out and comes, Alec’s name on his red, full lips, and Alec, so in love it almost hurts, can do nothing but follow him down.

…

Magnus is draped across the couch when Alec gets home from his meeting with the Consul, magically stirring a martini with one finger, his face buried in a book that’s probably twice as old as he is, if the crumbling pages and cracked leather of the cover is any indication. His brow is furrowed in concentration, but he brightens when Alec closes the door behind him, closing the book with a dusty snap. “Hello there.”

“Hi.” Alec drops his briefcase on the entry table and toes out of his shoes, coming to flop down beside him. Magnus moves his legs, then drapes them into Alec’s lap. “What are you up to?”

Magnus makes a face. “Translations,” he says. “There’s a tricky bit of spellwork I’m working on, a new ward design, but I’m getting caught up in some of the Enochian.” He reaches for Alec’s hand, and Alec threads their fingers together. “I won’t bore you with it.”

“By all means, try to bore me,” Alec says, leaning over to steal Magnus’s martini. It’s taken awhile, but he’s finally gotten a taste for them. “You know I like hearing you talk.”

“Flatterer,” Magnus says, but he opens the book again, showing Alec the notes he’s made in the margins, lines of incantation and translation in his looping, classic script as he explains the structure of the ward, the weave of the magic. This is Magnus in his element, in color and movement and joy, power humming in his hands and Alec’s ring on his finger. He looks comfortable and happy and beautiful and _sure_ , and all Alec can do is stare.

Magnus’s nails are an electric blue today, matched to his eyeliner. Alec watches his hands as he speaks, confident and bright, and doesn’t realize Magnus has stopped talking until he says his name. He startles and looks guiltily up to meet his eyes, but Magnus just looks amused. “Something distracting you, dear?”

“No,” Alec says, then, “Well, not really.”

Magnus arches his eyebrows.

Alec runs his thumb over the backs of Magnus’s knuckles, and then taps his thumbnail. “If I wanted to do this,” he says slowly. “And I’m--not saying I do. But if I did...would you show me how?”

If Magnus is caught off-guard, he hides it well. “On me? Or on you?”

“Either,” Alec says. “Both.”

Magnus looks at him, colorful and sparkling and lined with glitter. He turns his hand in Alec’s, lacing their fingers back together, and he smiles like the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe i spent like 2 weeks writing 11k of gender and sexuality exploration just for harry shum jr to post [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_keE5FFiHV/) on instagram, what a world we live in
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/shellyjshore), and i am a disaster on both.


End file.
